


Seven Souls

by PingZing



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PingZing/pseuds/PingZing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every soul you encounter on your journey leaves its mark on you. So, too, does your soul leave its own mark.</p><p>There are things you notice in each of these encounters, wholly unique to each soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mother

# The Mother

The first thing you notice about Toriel is how she watches you. When she takes your hand to guide you, you glance up and meet her gaze briefly before returning to staring at your feet. You can almost hear the smile as it spreads across her face. As you allow her to lead you, you can feel the steady pressure of her attention, as she absentmindedly navigates the ostensibly-deadly spike pit. You feel yourself flushing and struggle to make eye contact with her afterward.

Even after she takes you into the long corridor, kneels down and apologizes to you before dashing away, she casts glances back your way. You find the exercise endearing, and a little ridiculous. You’re not certain how this is meant to test your independence, but you humor her anyway. When she emerges from behind the singular hiding place at the end of the corridor, you narrowly hide a tiny grin at her solemnity.

When she leaves you and offers you a spare cell phone, you gratefully accept, but struggle to understand precisely what she intends you to do with it. The call you receive as soon as you leave the room quickly makes it clear—she intends to continue watching you from afar, as best she can with her voice alone.

Later, when you emerge into her courtyard covered in scrapes, burns and bruises, her expression morphs to one of horror. She kneels down in front of you with tears and quiet rage in her eyes as she demands to know who was responsible for your injuries. You shake your head; you don’t want to be a bother. She stares at you for a long moment, and her panic visibly fades, and is replaced by resignation. She sighs, smiles and shakes her head before standing and taking your hand once more. Even once inside the house, she keeps watch on you out of the corner of her eye until the distant scent of burning pastry demands her attention.

When you wake up later, disoriented and immobilized, you discover that she’d been checking on you even in your sleep. You wake up tucked into a warm bed, and with a single slice of pie waiting by the bedside. You realize that, at some point, you’ve decided to stay here. You take a bite of the still-lukewarm pie and find that you don’t regret this at all.

* * *

The second thing you notice about Toriel is her pain. It takes you a long time to notice, and longer still to understand it for what it is. But all the signs are there, and as familiar to you as your own face—indeed, some of the expressions you see her wear are some you’ve worn yourself.

You help out in the kitchen sometimes, because it’s easy to lose yourself in the simple, mechanical tasks. Once, you had been absorbed in flattening a thick ball of dough, when it occurred to you that that the kitchen had fallen silent. You turned to find Toriel watching you with a sad smile and a faraway look on her face. It had taken her several long moments to notice you staring, and before she could say anything you had wrapped her in the tightest hug you could muster. You felt her arms encircle you and felt her take a single, shuddering breath before she smiled, gently pushed you away and told you that she could finish up alone.

You gave her space.

\---

Scattered throughout the house, you find clues. Never enough to piece everything together, but enough to give you the outline. Half a chocolate bar from the surface, buried in the back of the fridge. A dusty collection of children’s shoes in a box hidden in the corner of your room. A collection of old toys, even dustier. A small pile of broken, half-used crayons in the back of a drawer. Even the carefully padded pitfalls back in the ruins.

The long, dark hallway underneath the house that Toriel never, ever failed to notice you exploring.

* * *

The final thing you notice about Toriel is her fear.

When the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks had begun to blur together, you’d felt a growing restlessness. You’d tried to dismiss it—you were safe, you were happy, Toriel said she loved you.

But the ruins were small. Over the years, you’d grown used to a level of freedom that was now denied to you—partly by Toriel’s protective nature, and partly by the size of the ruins. You’d missed the sky. You’d missed the stars. You’d begun to feel like the ruins were smothering you.

So you ask Toriel how to leave. You see naked fear flit across her face, momentarily war with grief and resignation, before a wall descends across it and all emotion vanishes.

When she issues a command to stay where you are, you follow it as well as you had the first time she’d asked, just after giving you the cell phone. After a moment’s pause, follow just behind her.

When she finally turns to face you, bordered by a massive stone door, her eyes are devoid of emotion. You fail to repress the shiver of fear that run up your spine. You cry out as burning fire sears the air around you, no longer the gentle crackling flames from the fireplace.

But you are determined to find your freedom, and stand your ground.

You shut your eyes tight, plant your feet, and wait for the pain to pass. Pain is an old companion, and you know its tricks. You wait for its waves to finish rolling over you, and open your eyes. You step forward, and keep your gaze locked on your feet. Meeting Toriel’s gaze right now would sap your resolve, and turn your feet to stone.

A second wave of heat and pain washes over you, and you wait patiently. Your nails dig into the heels of your palm and you feel them draw blood.

Another step.

Heat this time, but no pain. You hear the crackling blaze of the flames mere inches from you, but this time, they do not connect. You find the courage to lift you head and blink your eyes free of tears.

Toriel stands in front of you, head down, arms hanging limp at her sides, shuddering. Dying sparks still trail from her fingertips.

You drag yourself forward, step by pained step until you stand before her. Guilt and shame make your tired body heavier still. You raise your shaking arms and step forward.

And encircle Toriel’s waist with them.

You hear a single choked sob from above you before strong arms pull you close. They don’t let you go for a long time.

It is only then that you finally allow yourself to cry.

* * *

_A moment in time_ _…_

Toriel sat by the fireplace, a book spread across her lap. Her head drooped slightly—the heat and the sound of the human child’s pencil scratching across the page was making her drowsy.

She still had not mustered the courage to ask for a name. The child had not offered, and so she let it be. That made it easier.

The sound of the pencil stopped, to be replaced by the sound of small feet padding across the wooden floor. She roused slightly.

“Mom, what does this word mean?” The child asked.

Toriel blinked drowsily, automatically leaning closer to the book the child held up. Then the words reached her and she blinked again.

“What did you call me, my child?”

The child’s gaze fell earthward. “M’sorry.”

Toriel’s heart broke a little more. She’d never heard the child’s voice raised much above a quiet murmur, and any question Toriel almost immediately prompted an apology.

"It is fine my child.” Toriel paused a moment. “Would that make you happy? To call me…mother?”

She knew to look for it by now—a tiny nod. She sighed and smiled, before reaching out to stroke the child’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Call me whatever you like, my child. Remember that I will always be there for you. Now, what would was it that you wished to know?”

The child smiled shyly and dared to make eye contact briefly before holding up the book again.


	2. The Comic

# The Comic

The first thing you notice about Sans is…nothing. Despite having a remarkably expressive face for a skeleton, being courteous, genial—gregarious, even—you find that you can make neither heads nor tails of him.

He is a lazy, easygoing skeleton that introduces himself with a whoopee cushion. He's a negligent pet rock owner, and is dedicated and stubborn enough to truly _commit_ to being lazy. How else can you explain a chain of post-it notes describing one sock’s commitment to remaining at large?

That isn’t to say he’s completely opaque—there are certain things that are easy to glean.

He hides you from his larger, louder brother until you’ve got your wits about you. He’s remarkably helpful and informative for someone who’s supposed to be responsible for capturing you. He possesses a love of puns, simple pranks and gags that you find endearing and, occasionally, exasperating.

Later, he always seems to be there right when you’re reaching the end of your rope. Every time you find yourself beginning to flag, Sans is there with a wink and joke, or a brief respite and a meal. He becomes an erratic but welcome reminder that you’re not alone.

Despite all this, you completely fail to understand his motivations, his reasons or his methods when you first meet him, and for a great deal of time afterward.

* * *

The second thing you notice about Sans is that he loves and idolizes his brother. You struggle to understand why, at first. Papyrus is always nagging Sans to work harder, to stop being lazy, to _contribute_. Sans, however, simply lets it roll over him, unfazed. Sans responds to Papyrus’ blundering (but genuine!) attempts at hindering your progress not with mockery, but with genuine affection. _Isn’t my brother cool?_

It is during your fight with Papyrus that you begin to understand. Sans doesn’t think that Papyrus is cool because of his puzzles, or his cooking prowess, or his endearingly transparent self-delusion. Sans thinks Papyrus is cool because Papyrus is a genuinely goodhearted person.

Papyrus passes up several opportunities to overwhelm you or capture you in favor of a fair fight. When he fails, instead of raging at you for ruining his dream, he befriends you. When he ushers you into his house afterward, it is with all the grace of a good host, and all the excitement of a small puppy.

It is this enthusiasm for life that Sans admires.

\---

You spend several days with the skeleton brothers. At first, it is because Papyrus insists that you stay, and later, it is because you find yourself reluctant to leave. It is your first night (or what passes for night in the underground) as a guest, and to welcome you, Papyrus has promised you his finest spaghetti. You swiftly hide your grimace behind a cheery smile and nod at him. You take a seat at the dining table in the living room, and settle in the watch the show.

And what a show it proves to be! You’re glad that you chose the chair in the far corner—Sans has settled in across from you and informed you that the nearer chairs are in what he calls the “splash zone”. You soon find out why, when the first glob of tomato sauce splatters over the back of a chair, to be quickly joined by a partially-cooked noodle fragment. By the time the meal is ready, the two chairs nearest the kitchen resemble scene of a particularly violent pasta murder.

Papyrus piles a plate high with his culinary creation, and lifts it over his head triumphantly. He declares it to be his greatest spaghetti to date, and assures you that it will be like nothing you’ve ever tasted. While you are occupied preparing a response that _isn’t_ offensive, Papyrus is gesticulating enthusiastically while carrying the plate to the table. What he is _not_ doing is paying attention to his feet, and soon, his speech is cut short when he stumbles and the plate of spaghetti goes flying.

For a moment, you’re certain that the plate’s trajectory is going to give you a new hairdo, but you spot a flare of blue out of the corner of your eye, and the plate wobbles _just so_ …

…and it lands face-up on the table, before sliding to a stop perfectly in front of you.

You raise an eyebrow at Sans; you’re certain the flash of blue had come from his direction. He shrugs, winks at you and wonders aloud at how cool his brother is.

* * *

The third thing you notice about Sans is that he’s been everywhere and knows everyone. He’s at every sentry station you see. He’s always “busy”, though it seems to you that perhaps “occupied” is better word for it; a nap hardly seems to qualify as “busy”. If he’s not guzzling condiments or stacking hot dogs on your head, he’s shooting the breeze with everyone in Grillby’s. Everyone seems to know him, like him, or both.

And somehow, red tape never seems to touch him. Undyne catches him sleeping on the job? It never comes up again. The program for the MTT Resort’s restaurantdoesn’t mention him? He still finds time to sneak in a five minute sketch up on stage that leaves the audience in stitches, all without ruffling anyone’s feathers. It seems that, armed with nothing but a wink and a cryptic comment, consequences slide right off of him.

The first time Sans takes you through a “shortcut” whose relation to topography, good sense, and reality in general beggars belief, you begin to wonder just how many things he’s hiding. You begin to wonder if maybe his easygoing nature, approachable personality and apparent laziness aren’t carefully calculated to make people lower their guard around him.

Once this suspicion lodges itself in your mind, you spend a great deal of time wondering about that. Wondering what motivation a person would have to cultivate an aura of disinterested trustworthiness. A reputation that encourages those he meets to speak honestly.

A persona that makes it easy to collect information.

* * *

There is a second Sans. _This_ is the first thing you notice about him, but the last thing you realize about him.

He is the menacing, shadowy figure that stalked you from the moment you exited the ruins of Home. The one that shattered hulking branches invisibly, that triggered your primal flight or fight instincts without ever appearing.

The one that had hunted you.

You realize much, much later that you had somehow managed to compartmentalize him into two people in your head. You had forgotten the second Sans existed, because you had been fooled by his act.

It is the second Sans that terrifies you. It’s hardly any wonder that you repress the memories that preceded your first meeting with him. The sudden cold, that gloomy, suffocating forest and the unnatural silence that whispered _danger_. The way the branches curled overhead, weighed down with snow, transforming the way forward into a dim tunnel. The buzzing tingle at the base of your neck that assured you that somewhere in the darkness, something terrible lurked.

It is not until very near the end of your journey that you begin to understand who he is. He tells you of a friend, a locked door, and a solemn promise.

He tells you exactly what you owe to that promise.

It is in the corridor of gold that you finish understanding. Singed and heartsick, with the sound of bells tolling (but for whom?) all around you, you finally understand Sans. He appears in what you presume is his true capacity—that of the judge. He hides his face in the looming shadows and explains the criteria for judgment in a voice like a dirge.

But then his voice drops back into its usual cadence—albeit one tinged with just a hint of wonder—as he explains that you’re as pure a soul as any could possibly be. He never says it outright, but you realize what he means—he's proud of you. And all at once, you realize the depth of what you’ve given Sans. You realize what all his jokes and evasions had been meant to hide.

It’s something that you’ve given back to him. Something that you suspect he’s been missing for a long time.

You’ve given him hope.

Sans, who understands that life is full of love and laughter, and that those things are fleeting, fragile and precious. That life is comedy.

Sans, who understands pain, loss and horror and that hope can desert even the most stalwart of souls. That life is, indeed, also tragedy.

* * *

_A moment in time…_

Sans has pronounced his judgment, delivered his impromptu speech. He turned away, and faced the golden, stained-glass windows that lined the hall. After a moment, he heard a set of footsteps stop beside him. He looked at the kid out of the corner of his eye socket, and took a moment to really _look_.

The kid had come a long way. The first time Sans had seen the poor thing, he’d seen nothing but a shivering child caught in the cold, starting at every sound and shadow. _Look at ‘em now_ , he mused.

Bags under the eyes, covered in a variety of scratches, burns, bumps, bruises and a few marks Sans wasn’t able to quite identify. Twin lines just below the eyes clear of grime that marked the tracks that tears had only recently followed. Somehow, the kid had ripped their shirt near the hem, and a little flap of purple fabric was flopping sadly.

But when Sans made eye contact, all of that faded away—all he saw was a calm, steady gaze, and the straight-backed posture of someone who’d made up their mind. He smiled a little, and turned back to the kid.

“Takin’ a bit of a breather? Don’t blame you, it’s quite a _site_ ,” he said. Not one of his best, but it’d have to do.

For his effort, Sans received an amused sigh. There was a pause before he found that the kid was still staring hard.

“Did you mean it? Do you really think I can do the right thing?” They asked him.

Sans marveled for a moment. When Papyrus had agreed to let MY NEW FRIEND THE HUMAN stay with them, Sans had had difficulty getting more than a word or two out of the kid, much less sustained eye contact.

Sans laughed and shook his head. “Kid, if I say it, I mean it. For once, I ain't pulling your leg.” He held out his hand. “Best of luck.”

The kid eyed his hand for a long moment, clearly suspicious before shrugging and gripping his hand tightly.

_PPPPPPBBBTHHHBPHBTBHPTHTH_

The kid drew in a deep breath shut their eyes tightly.

_PTTHBBTHTHTHTHTBTHBTH_

The kid let out a long-suffering sigh.

_plthhrbrlrlbrlrlblrlthlapthalpthlapthlap_

The kid shook their head.

_fweet._

The kid fixed him with a level stare.

“Always funny,” Sans said, grinning.

The kid smiled, shook Sans' hand twice, and strode past him into the golden gloom with no further fanfare. Sans watched them go. Their head was held high, their shoulders were squared and their steps were sure.

_Look at 'em now, indeed._


	3. The Idealist

# The Idealist

The first thing you notice about Papyrus is his voice. It is ebullient, booming and every one of his exclamations makes you flinch a little. Raised voices make you uncomfortable, and Papyrus is a walking shout. You peek out from behind Sans' "conveniently-shaped" lamp at the din you're hearing and you espy a tall skeleton facing away from you, posing dramatically, a half-cape fluttering in the wind behind him.

You forget yourself, and stare. You've never seen someone actually deliver a monologue before. You've seen them on TV, and read them in books, but seeing it happening _live_ in front of you is something different. You even forget the danger you're in until you hear Sans telling his brother to _check out that lamp_. You dart back behind its strangely-contoured cover just as you hear Papyrus tell his brother to stop fooling around. You hear a curiously rhythmic pounding sound, accompanied by Papyrus resuming his monologue, now in service of reprimanding Sans. You find that every time he starts speaking, it makes you jump, but as he continues, you find yourself focusing on his voice. There is some quality to the way Papyrus projects his voice that compels you to listen, as though each statement he makes is a grand proclamation worth attending.

Later, when he asks you what you thought of his spaghetti, you realize that the very last thing you want to do is hear what Papyrus' voice sounds like when he's disappointed. So you tell him that you ate every last piece of ice-cold, frozen spaghetti. And when you hear his joy, you find a shy smile of your own sneaking cautiously onto your face.

Later, when you are exhausted, sore, distraught, or even just bored, you give Papyrus a call. Simply hearing his voice on the other end is a relief, a soothing balm to your battered spirit. Sometimes the phone can't accurately represent the volume of his voice, and it descends into a scratchy, electronic whine. When Papyrus' usual bombastic baritone is distorted like this, you like to think that it's because the phone cannot handle the majesty of The Great Papyrus' voice.

You tell him that once, and you can almost hear him blush before he recovers.

* * *

The second thing you notice about Papyrus is that he is one of the _best_ people you've ever met. Kind-hearted, hard-working, dedicated, conscientious and without a mean bone in his…well, anywhere.

You are lying on your back in the snow, receiving slobbery kisses from Greater Dog when you spot motion in the distance behind your fuzzy new friend. You push Greater Dog off of you, giggling, and he hops back into his suit of armor headfirst and drives it away. Just beyond him is a long, rope bridge, and at the opposite end of the chasm, you can just make out Papyrus and Sans.

You make your way onto the bridge, and once you're within shouting distance (which is actually quite far for Papyrus), he explains his final puzzle to you. You peer with some skepticism at the variety of devices on display. Many of them appear lethal but…dubiously aimed. You're not really sure how this is a puzzle, either.

You cock your head and look at Papyrus who appears to be sweating. He's swearing that he will activate it soon.

Any minute now.

He deactivates it, insisting it's unfair.

Somehow, you expected that.

\---

You refuse to fight Papyrus. Instead, you resolve to wear him down.

The "battle" against Papyrus is almost fun. You are put in mind of playgrounds and jungle gyms as you run up stepped waves, and duck through the narrow gaps in the walls of bone he sends rushing at you. You find yourself laughing as you sprint up an ascending wave of bones, leap off the topmost one, land in a crouch, pause for a moment while you feel the staticky sensation of a blue attack passing through you, then leap straight up, narrowly clearing a single, tall bone.

You stand up, panting and see that Papyrus is also smiling…and panting. You're pleased to see your plan is working and, strangely, a little disappointed that it means you'll have to stop soon.

A twinkle enters Papyrus' eye and he tells you that he's going to have to show you his "special attack" soon.

You…are skeptical.

Your skepticism proves to be founded when a small dog somehow steals Papyrus' special attack.

You almost immediately regret your skepticism when it returns in the middle of Papyrus' "completely normal attack", the special attack trailing behind it. The dog dashes by you, nearly knocking you over, and you have just enough time to dodge the trail of strangely shaped bones being dragged behind it. You spot what appears to be a bone all dressed up and riding a skateboard before a veritable _forest_ of bones is speeding toward you. You don't think there's any way you can possibly clear it, but you leap anyway. Your heart sinks when you look ahead and see that a massive bone, fully three stories tall, is headed your way.

But then you feel the press of Papyrus' blue magic lessening and the momentum from your leap allows you to continue traveling up…up…and over the enormous bone bookending Papyrus' special attack. As you gently drift to the ground, you look up at Papyrus just in time to see him lowering his hands and begin gasping for breath.                     

He deigns to offer you mercy between gasps. You are humble enough to accept. It's the least you can do for someone who just saved you from his own attack.

* * *

The third thing you notice about Papyrus is that he's not just a good person, but an excellent friend.

He takes you into his home like you're an old friend, and not a sworn enemy of all monsterkind (Though you don't find out about that second part until later, and, absurdly, it makes you feel guilty). He takes the time to give the (full, excruciatingly-detailed) tour of his house, then gives you his phone number and urges you to call should you ever need anything. Finally, he offers to let you stay as long as you need, an offer you happily take him up on. Now that the excitement of leaving the ruins, meeting the skeleton brothers, exploring Snowdin and fighting Papyrus has worn off, your body is cheerfully presenting you its bill. You're shivering, from both cold and exhaustion, your belly is rumbling like an earthquake, and your vision is beginning to swim.

You ask Papyrus where the blankets are, and the next thing you know, he's got you bundled up in so many that you're not sure you can move. You manage to waddle over to the couch, and the warmth of your blanket cocoon puts you to sleep before you can feel appropriately uncomfortable about passing out on a stranger's sofa.

\---

You wake up to find that you've somehow manage to kick off a small fort's worth of blankets in your sleep, and that there is a plate of now-cold spaghetti on the end table next to the couch. A note has been taped to the table. Apparently THE GREAT PAPYRUS has left you the gift of his spaghetti to speed your recovery.

After a minute or two in the microwave, it's actually not bad.

* * *

_A moment in time_ _…_

His arm flew to the table beside his bed before he was consciously aware of either being awake, or of what he was doing. Papyrus plucked the phone from its charger as he brought it close to his face to peer at the incoming call. His smile nearly lit up the room as he realized who it was. He punched the “answer” button and placed the phone against the side of his skull.

"HUMAN! I see your desire to speak to me has transcended your desire to sleep! Fortunately for you, I am always happy to help a friend—what can I do for you?"

Papyrus paused for a moment, straining to listen to the human speak.

"I am at home, of course! Merely resting my bones in preparation for another day of sentry work! But you didn't answer my question! Could it be that you...still have unrequited feelings for me?"

He sat up and swung his legs to the floor, and remained sitting on the bed's side.

"...oh. That is good to hear! I am very glad that my rejection didn't leave you hopelessly heartbroken."

He braced his elbows against his legs and hung his head, rubbing his fingers against his brow ridges. The human continued speaking.

"...tired?" Papyrus replied, looking up. "Have you been receiving adequate amounts of sleep?" He stood up, stretched, and opened the door to the upper landing before pausing. "I know I told you not to follow my brother's examples, but that doesn't mean you should stop sleeping entirely!"

Papyrus walked downstairs as he was rewarded with a tiny giggle. He allowed himself a broad smile as he passed into the kitchen and flipped on the light.

"Nyeh heh heh! That's the spirit! So! Where have your journeys through the underground taken you?"

As the human began recounting recent events, Papyrus pinned the phone between his head and shoulder and rummaged around in the cupboard. After a moment's clattering, he withdrew a kettle, a box of tea bags and a mug. He filled the kettle and set it on the stove to boil before leaning against the counter.

"Wowie! Sounds like you've had a real adventure! And you even got to meet the Royal Scientist herself? Where are you now?"

The kettle began whistling and Papyrus took it off the burner and poured himself a cup of hot water. He added the tea bags and began stirring absentmindedly, still waiting for the human's reply. He drifted over the window at the front of the house and waited patiently for the tea to steep, and the human to speak.

Finally, they did.

Papyrus paused, halfway through raising his mug to take a sip. He slowly lowered it again.

"The CORE...", he said, half to himself. "You're getting close, huh...?"

The line went silent on either end for a long moment, both participants lost in their thoughts.

"Well," Papyrus finally said, rallying, "I know you can do it! Go forth with the knowledge that someone as great as me has the utmost confidence in you!

Papyrus paused for a moment before adding, "...and try to get some rest! Nyeh heh heh!" He heard another giggle, and took that as his cue to hang up.

He pressed the end call button and let his smile fade into something small and satisfied, and sipped his tea, watching the snow twinkle quietly under the false starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended on a far less melancholy note than I'd planned. Papyrus resists attempts to make anything sad happen in his presence.
> 
> Contrary to the popular fandom belief that Papyrus sounds like Skeletor, I imagine him as having the baritone of a trained theater performer, always projecting everything he says. Somewhere between Dota 2's Storm Spirit, and Futurama's Zapp Brannigan.


	4. The Heroine

# The Heroine

 

The first thing you notice about Undyne is the crackling blue energy of her spears. That’s the totality of her introduction to you—she appears from the gloom along the shore to your left, and begins flinging bolts of razor-sharp magic at you. You duck, dodge and weave along the narrow wooden footpath until you manage to put a wall between yourself and the murderous armored monster. You stumble into a thicket of tall grass, and gasp for breath as it cushions your fall.

This was the first time anyone had sincerely tried to kill you. Well, other than the strange, homicidal flower, you correct yourself. But that hadn’t felt quite as personal as a hulking, armored monster stalking you. The flower had been an opportunist. What’s happening now feels like being hunted, and you have a sudden welling of sympathy for prey animals the world over.  

You spend a long time lying there, gasping for breath before your work up the courage to move forward. You nearly leap out of your skin when, as you push yourself free of the brush, a yellow blur zooms out of it next to you. It’s the monster kid you met in Snowdin. This is the third time you’ve run into him in these caves, and you’re beginning to wonder who’s following who. He gushes about how cool Undyne is, and you smile at him. Under different circumstances, you might agree.

When you meet her for the second time, she introduces herself by spearpoint again. This time, you understand her better—the plaques scattered about Waterfall have made it clear that monsters have every reason to hate humans. You remember the narrow path from earlier in the caves, where you’d spent a silent moment with your new friend, admiring the view of what you assumed was New Home. You wonder if even the beauty of something like that might pall after centuries of imprisonment.

You and Undyne stare at each other with mere feet separating you, and it feels like a gulf. She brings several spears crashing down through the boardwalk, and as it cracks and collapses, you find yourself wondering if there is some way to bridge that gap.

Then you hit bottom and wonder no more, for a time.

* * *

 

The second thing you notice about Undyne is her enthusiasm. The second she tears off her helmet, it’s as though she becomes another person. You realize that you were completely wrong about her—you’d thought of her as the stoic, steely knight, grimly seeking vengeance. But that’s not it at all—she’s a hero, fighting with everything she has to secure a better future for her people.

As you dodge a volley of spears and watch her lift an entire boulder over her head and suplex it with an eardrum-rattling cry, it occurs to you that she also greatly enjoys doing what she does. She’s full of so much vibrant joy for life that she can hardly hold still—it’s no wonder that the monster kid idolized her. She’d even thrown a smaller spear at you just before rooting you in place, shouting at you to DEFEND YOURSELF! You wonder if she’s more interested in stopping you, or just fighting you. You slap another flurry of incoming spears out of the air and find that you’re grinning at the joy of the sheer physical mastery it demands. The risk of painful death might be a mood dampener, but the stakes are a little lower for you than they might be for others.

Maybe Undyne is onto something after all.

\--

Undyne picks you up by palming your skull and leaps over her shattered dining table and up to the kitchen counter, cackling like a banshee. You’re too startled to move, by both the physical contact and the abruptness of it all. You stand stock still as Undyne dances along the counter top, clearing it of nonessentials, and informs you that it’s time for a cooking lesson. The fact that the nonessentials get cleared onto the _floor_ doesn’t appear to be a concern.

The next several moments blur together, and when you come back to your senses, you find that you’re clutching a wooden spoon, furiously stirring the contents of a pot, and somebody is screaming.

Oh. It’s you. You’re screaming.

It appears to be a battle cry.

Undyne is definitely onto something.

* * *

The third thing you notice about Undyne is that when you strip away her bluster, and catch her in a rare moment of calm, she’s as sharp as the points on her spears. You get a glimpse of it when she serves you tea in her home, and she talks about redirecting Papyrus’ goals in life. She looks away, hunched over on a stool across from you, her elbows planted on her knees, her hands cradling a mug of steaming tea. You find the juxtaposition striking; the fearsome, fiery warrior-captain, quietly sipping tea, lost in thought as she contemplates how best to allow a friend achieve self-fulfillment.

You see it again later, when Alphys is (accidentally?) confessing her undying love. Undyne, flustered though she is, recognizes what Alphys needs in that moment. Undyne briefly reassures the anxious lizard lady, and then distracts her with outrageousness and friendship and healthy exercise. It does not escape your notice that she is effectively introducing Papyrus and Alphys to each other and neatly solving two problems—Papyrus’ singleminded desire to become a Royal Guard, and Alphys’ lack of confidence. Training Alphys is sure to distract Papyrus, and you know from experience that Papyrus can make _anyone_ feel better.

You see it again when Toriel saves you from Asgore. Undyne dashes into the barrier room, prepared to save the two of you from each other, and instead sees Toriel. Undyne grasps the situation immediately, and instead of acknowledging its gravity, she goes to Asgore’s side and...cracks a joke. After Alphys appears, she follows Undyne’s lead in pulling Asgore out of himself and back to reality.

Undyne _gets it_.

* * *

_A moment in time_ _…_

She frowned at the blackened wreckage of her stove, and then at the roaring inferno that had consumed her living room.

 _Ugh, not again. Asgore_ _’_ _s gonna give me that_ disappointed _look_ _…_

Undyne sighed and turned to her little accomplice in kitchen-destruction. The kid was standing stock-still, staring at the ruins of the kitchen counter. They were still clutching the charred handle of the wooden spoon they’d been stirring with. The final three inches of spoon had been sheared off, and the handle terminated in a blackened, splintery mess.

She felt a nervous smile creep onto her face. “Ah. Man, no wonder Papyrus sucks at cooking.”

The kid turned and looked at Undyne, blinking owlishly before turning to stare at the remnants of the wooden spoon in their hand. They blinked once more before gently placing it on a part of the counter that wasn’t aflame.

There was a long moment of silence before Undyne nervously continued. “So what’s next? Scrapbooking? Friendship bracelets?”

The kid jerked their head back up as though they’d forgotten she’s there. They spent a moment staring, with their head tilted to the side. Their brow furrowed in confusion.

Undyne sighed. She’d tried. Well, there was nothing for it now. Maybe she could get a _real_ battle now. She’d even make the human throw the first punch!

\--

The human was a weenie. A tiny, sugar-sweet, incorrigible _weenie_ with a heart so big that it was a wonder in fit inside them at all. Undyne sighed, and dropped her spear, and squeezed in one last threat to the human before hustling them out of the house. It had been getting hard to breathe, anyway.

Undyne bade the human farewell, and turned to dash away, but stopped mid-stride as she felt a tiny hand clutching the hem of her shirt. She turned.

“What is it, squirt?”

The human was staring at their feet, and fidgeted uncomfortably for a long moment. Undyne’s brow furrowed in confusion. Then, as though reaching a decision, the human looked up at Undyne, schooled their features into a determined expression...and wrapped her in a hug.

Undyne tensed, waiting for the inevitable suplex— _I knew it, the human was holding out on me!_ _—_ but instead, the human’s grip just tightened, and their shoulders shook. Just once, that was all. Undyne’s face fell, and she wrapped her arms around the tiny child hugging her.

For several long moments, there was nothing but warmth pressed against her midsection, tiny hands clutching at her back, and the crackling of fire in the background. Then, the kid let go, and looked up at Undyne, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Thank you,” they whispered, “That’s the most fun I’ve ever had.”

Undyne gave them a soft smile back. Then, her smile grew into her trademark shark-toothed grin. “That’s right, punk! Hanging out with me is a blast! It’s a good thing we’re besties now, because we’re gonna do it ALL. THE. TIME! YEAH!!”

Undyne punctuated her speech by grabbing the human and flinging them into the air. Their initial shriek turned into laughter as they reached the apex of their flight. As they began to fall, they spread their arms. Undyne caught them and redirected their momentum into a spin before planting them on their feet again. The human took an unsteady, stumbling step before shaking their head and giggling.

“You know where to find me if you need me, squirt!” Undyne said, still grinning.

The human returned her smile and nodded, and she took off at a run, whooping.

She had to make it to Snowdin in time to catch the human’s call to Papyrus, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, Undyne is hard for me to write. Hoping Alphys is a little easier.


End file.
